


Lights down below

by Frechi



Series: #HQAngstWeek2020 [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anime/Manga scene, Before and during the burial, Death, Death through suicide, Free day, Funeral, Goodbyes, Grief, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frechi/pseuds/Frechi
Summary: Izumi and Koji were here, Kageyama was here. She had smiled through her devastation, unknowingly when she had seen just how many people he had bonded with.That's just how you are,she had thought.You always shine, no matter where you go.And she saw the faces full of grief, she heared her mother cry muffled through the fabric. She was spilling a lot, most of all tears.
Series: #HQAngstWeek2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994737
Kudos: 11





	Lights down below

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7:  
> •Goodbyes  
> •Anime/Manga scene  
> •Free day
> 
> Related to HQAngstWeek Day 4
> 
> Please do not use my work for anything!

He stared. Tired eyes of someone who had suffered.  
He felt like sleeping, he did so often these days, there even were dark circles under his eyes. He was lacking sleep, you could clearly see it in his reflection in the mirror he was facing but his eyes were not watching himself.  
The strands of his hair were gracing his cheeks, to blame was his downcasted head.  
Had he watched himself before?  
Yes, he had.  
He had seen the malady that had been done to him.  
He had seen how these clothes didn't suit him.  
He had seen the sorry look in his mother's eyes when he had been picked up.  
He had seen so much despite leaving the house so rarely.  
He had seen so much....  
He felt like he had seen enough, so much was it that his eyes were hurting from the dryness, watering up as if you would irrigate a desert.  
They had seen enough and still they couldn't stop seeing, focused on the little thing in-between his fingers. He didn't want to see it anymore, it was all his vision had been filled with since that. But he just couldn't tear his eyes away, as dread clasped his heart everytime. He was scared, fearing for it to disappear. Memories were all that it held. And his eyes were so sore to see the beaming smile. His lips were so tired to repeat those words, his mind was so exhausted to keep himself from forgetting and not remembering too much.  
He was so sleepy but he knew he couldn't have the rest he wished for. If he would close his eyes, his mind wouldn't be able to balance him through the narrow ridge between too much and too little. The nightmares would cut at him. And he felt himself losing himself just a little bit, that part he had touched, he was losing it. And it made him go insane just so little.  
The rain dropped past the small rememberance.  
He heared the door open quietly.  
"It's time," the taller one said, not a lot of tone of emotion in his voice, just standing there in the door frame, looking at his childhood friend with the same absence in his eyes.  
But had he even heared?  
Between memories of an accidential meeting at that street corner and memories of the games they had contested, texts, and emotions they had shared, although it was always just about one topic. Even when they had met the very first time.  
But it had been fun.  
It had been fun.  
With Hinata volleyball always had been fun. It was what Kenma had learned. That there was more to it than simply winning and losing.  
It had brought him joy.  
Until it had happened, the change of its meaning.  
And suddenly it brought him nothing but pain. When he held a ball in his hands, the smile appearing in his head was impossible to bear.  
Its meaning had shifted, the importancy changed.  
"Kuroo," Kenma called the name of his childhood friend after the silence had become unbearable too.  
"Do you think volleyball can be fun again?"  
And there was a trembling in his voice that Kuroo noticed as well but he couldn't find his own when words never seemed so useless.  
"I don't know," he could only say in a little voice while he tried to understand the amount of his friend's pain.  
"Let's go," he mumbled, pushing away a bit from the frame, his movement not as strong as it usually was.  
The other boy looked at his own reflection, fleeting sleeves hushing across his skin, swallowing heavily, his eyes shifted to the picture he wanted to crumble in his palm but just couldn't bring himself to hurt purposely. It was indescribable how catastrophic he felt inside, how miserable the loss of his friend left him. Tearing his eyes from the happy smile the picture showed, stuffing it into his pocket, he followed the dark-eyed out the room.

\-------

"Bokuto-san," Akaashi called his former Senpai and entered the room he had left a few minutes ago.  
He wanted to ask him if he was ready. But he couldn't bring out another word when he saw him.  
He was staring at his hands. And he didn't move. He hadn't even reacted in any way.  
There only happened a helpless plea when he looked up with his piercing eyes that seemed less radiant since awhile.  
"Akaashi," he sounded almost scared.  
"What should I do? They won't stop trembling."  
His dark eyes noticed only now the little movement in his fingers.  
His pupils shifted back to his.  
"It's nothing bad," he replied and stepped closer.  
"It's a natural reaction. It just means that you are mourning."  
But his eyes were shaking just as much as his arms.  
It was strange for Akaashi to see him like this, being nothing like his self during practice, during the camps, nothing like when Hinata had praised and adored him, calling him 'cool' and 'incredible'.  
How long had it been, how many years had passed?  
What had happened in that time for him to end so tragically?  
What had him made change just how Bokuto had changed into something small, shivering, hurt. To him it happened just now, he would recover from it again.  
But when had it happened to Hinata? When had it changed for him?  
And how long had he been changing?  
To become what would be leaving Bokuto again, making him so different that it was impossible to not have noticed the change.  
Not energetic, his movement wasn't as dashing and expressive and his voice was slow and reduced. Akaashi had seen Bokuto sad, unmotivated and down so many times. But he had never seen him scared.  
There was no plan A, B, C, D.  
"Do you need another moment?" he asked at his eyes that weren't ready yet.  
"I don't know," was the answer he got.  
"I want it to stop. Akaashi please make it stop."  
"I can't. It's your body that reacts to your feelings."  
"Please do something," Bokuto nearly yelled.  
It was scaring how desperate he was, the Senpai that had always overflown with energy, it was appalling how someone you knew so well could change through one difference.  
There were little tears in his eyes when he was so helpless.  
It was a shock running through Akaashi's system, quenching at his heart, it was as if he had only now understood what reason had brought them here, five hours with the car, all the way from Tokyo.  
And he felt his own hands begin to tremble.  
"It's normal, just a natural reaction, as I said. It will subside eventually. But if you want, we can do that."  
He put his hand onto Bokuto's palm. He was scared that he would feel his own trembling but while he feared, the hand of the older one closed around his.  
He felt himself ease against the touch, feeling that he too needed to feel someone being alive while they were burying the dead.

\-------

"Don't black out," his voice resounded in the silence that was only filled with the sound of shuffling fabric.  
"Why would I?"  
His answer was different. On any other day he would have expected to be teased but today was different. He knew the reason as so many people had come together for only one.  
"Because you're awefully pale."  
The brunette only lowered his head a bit more, hiding his face.  
"I don't know," he then replied but it was tardy. "It doesn't feel.... real."  
"Yeah," his friend tied his shoes but his movement was slower than usual, less strong and his voice wasn't as steady either. "In a way it feels as if it's not really happening."  
Oikawa turned to him.  
"How could it even come this far? Did no one notice?" he sounded still like himself, although there was a part that felt oddly strange, rarely serious anger coming out along his voice.  
He was not stupid, despite how he behaved so often, he knew about a lot. And he knew that something like that builds up first. It doesn't happen suddenly, not suddenly for who it lets become victim and culprit at once. There had to have to be time passing that had led him to such a horrendous desicion, time where signs could have been visible, noticeable, even if they weren't always easy to detach from the usual behaviour.  
"Don't blame it on someone else," Iwaizumi mumbled and tied his other shoe. "No one is at fault for it."  
"I know," Oikawa murmured himself but his voice was silently upset. "It's just...unexpected. He didn't seem like..."  
His sentences were strangely broken today.  
"Like he would die like that," Iwaizumi wasn't afraid of it. But he couldn't deny that something horrible followed after.  
"It's terrifying what people are able to hide, even if they are the worst liars, if they want to hide it strongly enough, they won't let it be seen by anyone," he said with fear in his voice. But even then, just how long had there been a chance to find these filigree lies?  
How long must he have waited?  
To pay the ultimate price, how long had he paid with these parts of his life, selling them, trading them, giving them away so easily.  
It made Oikawa angry. Because he was included. He could have noticed too. And he asked himself if he had been like this already when Hinata had protected him from his own end. He asked himself while this hateful frustration built up further, why he hadn't noticed it then. Self-loathing made his ears buzz, knowing that he had a little package, stuffed full with guilt, blame and fault, that he had to carry, a little part of the reason was his.  
"Oikawa!"  
Iwaizumi yelled at him, inside his sealing off emotions.  
"I told you to not blame it on someone. So don't blame it on yourself either."  
But Oikawa was bitter, this miserable feeling crawling his back back up.  
He didn't know if he could go through it without having to leave, his core refusing to let anyone see him weak like that although no one would look at him accusingly or pitying. All of them had lost the same.  
He looked at his shoes, staring down at them when he realized that his own eyes were looking like that, plaintively, full with affliction.  
He turned away from his childhood friend.  
"Are Makki and Mattsun ready yet?"  
Iwaizumi watched his back for a moment, seeing the shiver he tried to make leave. But there was nothing much he could do.  
Oikawa did that often. Suffering alone, not showing his weakness and hurt. And while Iwaizumi could find the right answers to it on the court, although he still found them, outside of it was a bit harder. It was impossible to find the right response today. Nothing was right today. Trying to find something that didn't exist, he knew he had no chance.  
Silently he tore his eyes away from his back.

\-------

Ushijima blended into the black mass. It was easy, despite of his outstading uniqueness, to become part of the slowly moving crowd as he wasn't different from all of those who had gathered. He had made his connection too, years ago, when they had met, when they had fought and when he had won. The training he had sneaked in. He still remembered his bright, energetic personality, eager to learn from anyone he thought of amazing, which was practically everyone. He had seen him as rival but when he had become the ball boy, he had found the admiration in these amber eyes that he had held towards him. He had been odd but interesting, in a way even fascinating. And he hadn't hesitated to take the chances that had offered themselves to him to ask Ushijima for advice. A lot played into it, a lot he had noticed through the encounters over the years.  
He had come to respect him for his abilities, his will, his eagerness, he had accepted him for as many things as he had seen. In a way he had grown fond of his hunger of knowledge and the new challenges he had always brought with him.  
The reason he was here now, was because of all that for what he had liked him, accepted him, respected him. Yet there was something indeniable about the fact of his death. That there had been a change apparently no one had known about. Which made him think.  
Where had his attitude to never stop gone to?  
Where had these things he had began to acknowledge him for gone to?  
Where had he gone to?  
He could only wonder like so many, flowing down the road along the dark current, he was just a drop in there, a drop between many who asked the same questions again and again, their lips becoming chapped, dry throats, their vocal chords might have started bleeding even, exhausted from repeating.  
It made him think about the circle that was closing now, how it all had started with this seemingly so accidencial encounter at a traffic light, his voice had never quieted down. But he was impressed only so little when he could keep up with him despite his short legs. They were following him across the, to him, familiar school yard. How impressed the orangette had been by the smallest things. And he couldn't keep himself from scolding the both of them, his companion wanted him to see him too, Kageyama Tobio who looked strange in comparison with his sixteen year old self. It was not that he had matured, although he had, it was that he was broken. And he asked himself if Hinata had looked that way too, nothing alike his sixteen year old self that had been so easy to scold. He hadn't been wavering then, insulting those who Hinata respected, but to him it was only the truth. He hadn't been wavering when this squirt had had the courage to tell him otherwise with these piercing eyes that always, always had sought more of a player's high. And he couldn't deny that he had left a deep-running impression on him, when he had showed his barely polished abilities.  
I'm Hinata Shouyo, from the concrete.  
He had introduced himself and he had been strong and unmoving while he had sworn to move Ushijima's own unbudging force. And he hadn't been wavering when he fulfilled what he had promised.  
Ushijima was not wavering either when he payed his respects while the sky clouded over more and more, the air getting colder and a certain scent hung in the air when the time of the final goodbye had come.  
You truly had been extraordinary, Hinata Shouyo from the concrete.  
But his life had been too short.  
He had anticipated it. There had been potential that he could have built out in so many directions, Ushijima had been excited to see his efforts.  
Had he been looking out for this shining name to appear?  
Had he waited to see his brightly smiling face?  
Had he waited to meet the rising star?  
He had.  
But his name had never appeared, his face had never shown in front of him again. There had been many talented players that had earned a title in the world. But there had never been a rising star.  
He had waited.  
Long had he waited.  
And the only thing that had happened was a terrible loss for all those who had loved him dearly.  
When the news had reached him, he hadn't been wavering.  
Hinata Shouyo,  
he had thought and disappointment had been spreading in his body,  
where have you gone to?  
He was not sad, not mourning in the way his family was. But there were still some things involved, besides his disappointment of a lost talent.  
Yes, he had felt sadness. He had felt sorry for those who had held him dear. And he felt it still, these distant feelings of grief. For someone he had known. And yet, he stood tall and steady when he took pride in having known such a remarkable person. It only would have been more, it would have been more had he reached out to him. He had waited, sure of his success, although it had took him so long.  
He should have been suspicious.  
He should have asked him to hurry up.

\-------

He turned to his friend, his eyes asking only so little for his approvement.  
"Wait," Futakuchi said in a small voice and his fingers pulled at his tie, adjusting it.  
"Now," he mumbled and smoothed the lapel of his suit.  
Aone turned towards the mirror again, his eyes searching for the little changes.  
He felt strange in that suit. He was not comfortable but that was not all to blame on the clothes he wore. A lot came together to make him feel extraneous at this place, in this part of the world that had shrunken just a little bit more.  
His eyes shifted back to his friend who was pulling at the ends of his sleeves.  
"We can go now," the deep voice of the white-haired spoke so rarely.  
Futakuchi looked up from his arms, a little of wonderment laying in his eyes.  
"Okay," he replied just as quiet.  
There was something depressing laying in the air around them, following them out the door, a few tiny fingers closing around them, taking hold. Even Futakuchi could feel it, the hanging melancholy. Although he wasn't here for the purpose Aone was. It was still nothing that brought joy.  
He didn't expect Aone to cry, he didn't expect him to be profusely sad, he didn't expect him to mourn like his family would. But he didn't expect him to be happy either. He hadn't even expected him to not go alone, he hadn't expected Aone to ask him to go with him. And he hadn't expected him to be shaken that much.  
They went down the road when he remembered.  
He hadn't shown it much on his face when the news had reached Aone. They had met, sitting in his living room to watch some volleyball games. As always he had talked little, concentrated on the game, and Aone had been silently captivated. But in the midst of it, the break had been coming to a close, Aone's phone had buzzed, enough time had been left for an answer.  
"Who is it now?" Futakuchi still had complained. But the response had left him with silence and no words he could have said.  
"Hinata Shouyo is dead," he had said and his voice had been wavering.  
Futakuchi had froze while his friend had asked him.  
"Can you go to his funeral with me?"  
It was unexpected to the brown-haired, that he was not strong enough to bid farewell to someone who had grazed his heart, someone he respected, someone he had a certain fondness for. This wall that had always stood steady and irrefutable, had a soft part where his vulnerablity and weakness was exposed to the world. Loss could put cracks upon the even surface, errupting from deep within. His tender heart was a wall itself that couldn't be shaken easily, just like his body, but it was still what it was; a heart. A heart that could get hurt.  
And Futakuchi had seen the pain he had felt on that day, how could he say no to his friend who for once was asking for support?  
The brown-haired glanced at him carefully as the stream followed down the road.  
It was strange how this little encounter had left such deep traces, that little encounter they had had during the Interhigh. But to be honest, he hadn't really liked the boy. He hadn't hated him but he just...hadn't liked him either. So that it felt wrong, in a way, for him to be here. He knew it was disrespectful in view of that, that it was a funeral, a day belonging to the dead they had followed to the graveyard, he knew it was inappropriate to have these thoughts that didn't belong to the here right now. But he didn't know what he should say to him either when he accompanied Aone for his words of farewell. Standing there in silence while his friend paid his respects. And he saw the little trembling in his hands. But Futakuchi didn't take them.  
You know,  
his mind released some words.  
I found you annoying,  
he thought as if he was speaking to who he barely had known,  
but you didn't deserve this.  
Only in the end his thoughts were overlapping with those of his friend whose hands certainly would feel cold, so much that they were shaking, if he were to take them.

\-------

Greetings. They rather were grim, dejected, if not sad. Having planned their next meeting, no one would have thought it would be like this.  
These circumstances tore through the air.  
Even Tsukishima was there, he who never really could stand him. But he came nonetheless, although it was rather for Yamaguchi who had asked him to come. He wanted to bid his farewell despite the differences and distances there had been between them.  
And Tsukishima admitted that he wouldn't feel like he should be here but that he would have regretted it if he wouldn't have come.  
There was something indeniable about Hinata. That he had existed in Tsukishima's life. And that he had left a staying mark.  
He felt, in all this time he hadn't done something wrong, like he owed him only that.  
It was not because he was expected to go from his former Senpai, from Yamaguchi. It was on his own accord, to be able to move on from him. And despite his cold and hostile nature towards him, he let him go gently.  
Yet he couldn't help himself but blame Hinata one last time. For what expression he made these people wear, for what expression he made his former team wear, for what expression he made Yamaguchi wear.  
Lips pressed together tight, around his wetting eyes the skin became reddened and his nose was blocked. He was trying so hard. To not cry as his gentle heart just could not be like the steady one of his friend.  
"You don't have to hold back, you know," Tsukishima told him in a reduced voice and his lower lip was sucked in, teeth biting down on it. His eyes closed, shut so tight when the transparent tears passed his lashes and took their painful time to sidle down his freckled cheeks. And Tsukishima laid a hand on his shoulder while his friend silently cried next to Asahi, Tanaka, Nishinoya. And Yachi was weeping along with their quiet tears. Her sobbing voice telling more than her words could ever have.  
And they shared the pain again, just when they had lost during the Interhigh.  
Bitter eyes were staring, looking and watching.  
It seemed like a bad dream, like one of those nightmares that seemed so realistic that you have to confirm the untruth of it afterwards.  
But unfortunatly this was already the truth.  
And the one who was most aware of it, was Kageyama, seperated from the group, he couldn't have them too close right now, none of them. Not his old team, although he would be able to bear their proximity more than of anybody else. But the others...he wouldn't be able to stay when these others would approach him, those of the teams Hinata had connected with through more than just a rivalry.  
He could also not have his family anywhere near him, barely making it through the greeting of his mother and sister. He was not sure if he should tell them. That he had seen his condition and had done nothing. Instead he had been asking  
Why?  
Why are you like this?  
Yet he couldn't prevent it, the barrel inside him overflowing, when he was approached by Sugawara who was pained with this expression of grief. He told him about these things. And Sugawara was not holding him responsible.  
"There's a limit to how much someone can take."  
And his perception was dissociating when his words didn't blame him at all.

\-------

They could feel the eyes, staring at them with pity and commiseration. And Natsu could barely endure them, trying not to give more stress to her mother. Clutching her hand as tight as she could, it was all that remained from him. His mother he had loved so dearly and his sister he had held so close to his heart, even though he had locked her out from his perspective. She had tried to talk to him, she had tried to visit him, she had tried to connect with him again, like it had been once, when they had been kids. But whatever she had tried, he had shut her down, he had done it so softly but he had never hesitated.  
Izumi and Koji were here, Kageyama was here. She had smiled through her devastation, unknowingly when she had seen just how many people he had bonded with.  
That's just how you are,  
she had thought.  
You always shine, no matter where you go.  
And she saw the faces full of grief, she heared her mother cry muffled through the fabric. She was spilling a lot, most of all tears.

And the rain came again.  
Being left there with no sound, only the silent splashing of the falling drops. It was like she was getting drunk on the rain that poured down her face, drenching her cheeks.

Drops splashed against the ground and the crowd took out their umbrellas.  
But with all these clouds covering the sky, would he even be able to see the lights down below?


End file.
